with an old-fashioned air about the panelled parlour and raftered dining-
room that suggested bygone days of smugglers and privateers. Below, in a
nook of the cliff, stood an old sail-shed, which Mr. Castleton had turned
into his studio. The big new skylight had only just been fitted into the
roof, and the stove which was to heat it during the winter was still at
Durracombe station waiting for the carrier to fetch it, but canvases were
already hung round the walls, the throne was erected and the big easel
placed in position, and an old fisherman, with weather-beaten countenance
and picturesque stained jersey, sat every morning for his portrait.

Those of our readers who have met the Castletons before in _The Head
Girl at the Gables_, will remember that they were a very large family.
Morland, the eldest, had been at the war, had won the D.C.M., and was now
learning engineering; Claudia was studying singing in London; Madox had
been sent for his first term at boarding-school; and the four little
ones, Constable, Lilith, Perugia, and Gabriel, were still in the nursery.
There was only one gap. Landry, poor Landry, who had never been like
other boys, had passed over the divide and joined the beautiful mother
whom in features he had so strongly resembled. A painting of him, as a
little child in her arms, hung on the studio wall. In some respects it
was the most brilliant portrait which Mr. Castleton had ever achieved. He
always showed it to visitors as a specimen of his best work.

At the time this story begins, Beata and Romola were fourteen and
thirteen years of age. They thoroughly maintained the family reputation
for good looks. There was a certain resemblance between them, and yet a
difference. Beata's eyes were clear grey, with dark lines round the iris,
and her hair was the exact shade of one of her father's best English gold
picture frames. She was a clever, capable girl, with a great love for
music, and was beginning to play the violin rather well. She got on quite